


This Isn't Losing

by loveliftsusup_08



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-09-24 11:34:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9722504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveliftsusup_08/pseuds/loveliftsusup_08
Summary: My take on Post TFP - aiming for multi chapters (big step for me).  Just me editing.  Most obliged if you leave your comments--except you Sherlock lol.  First multi-chapter fan fiction .





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies in advance for any obvious slip ups. I'm English Canadian so my terminologies are probably off ..

It was long long after midnight when Molly approached her examination table. A young child's bones- one who had been identified as Victor Trevor(who had been found by Sherlock & John at the bottom of the well earlier that evening)-had been retrieved meticulously by NSY forensic experts. 

Those bones now sat in plastic containers all neatly bagged and ready to be examined and the findings released to NSY. 

It was her job now to give as positive an identification as possible based on her autopsy and to log any features of note. 

She knew NSY would surely have begun the process of locating the Trevor family who had so long ago lost this beloved child in what appeared to be a cruel tragedy. 

It would not ever be easy to inform the deceased’s family but in the end she hoped they would be able to find some closure now that the child's remains had been located and could be properly interred. 

Greg's summary had been that the long ago events that had led to this 30 year cold case had taken place at Sherlock’s ancestral home, Musgrave Hall.

Greg said the whole string of events including these most recent ones would be best heard from the Holmes brothers themselves. 

But apparently Mycroft himself was here in hospital under observation, and Sherlock was with John who was being examined and likely would be admitted to be treated for exposure. 

Apparently Mycroft's assistant had contacted him, directing him to Musgrave Hall in order to go to Sherlock's assistance.

As it turned out the events became an operation to retrieve the victim's remains and to take into custody an individual whose case Sherlock had taken on recently. 

Seeing this had transpired on the same day that Sherlock had called her phone call must be somehow linked. And according to Greg, Sherlock would allow no one but she to perform the autopsy. 

She put on her gloves and picked up the first of the bags and upon opening it began her examination by systematically arranging them in the anatomical position. 

When Greg had called she was in a bad way, Sherlock's never-to-be-forgotten call had ended with her collapsing on her couch, her phone clasped to her heart. Over and over her mind had replayed every word every nuance and timbre that could be detected trying to make sense of it. 

It had to be linked to a case -- he had said so. But what case could demand such immediacy as if imminent danger approached and would wring such desperate tones from Sherlock? 

What case would require him to barge into the tacitly forbidden territory of feelings with such impunity and demand she bare her soul to him in that abrupt fashion? Was he safe? 

With every word she had felt pushed nearer and nearer to THAT danger and still he had pushed. 

Kindness had never been one of Sherlock’s strengths but THAT .. THAT had been vivisection to the extreme. ‘If it's true say it anyway’ she could hear the satisfaction of winning in his tones and it had been that tone that had spurred her to throw the challenge back at him. 

She was sure the last 9 words he spoke to her would echo in her dreams but there was real life to live and so she had pulled herself together challenging herself to act as if it were any other day. 

And yet she knew Sherlock enough to know that danger lay behind those words. Somehow there was a hint of the freakish games Sherlock had been forced to engage in before the Fall. 

She took up her calipers, measure boards and scales, handling each fragment and bone with care and a professional detachment. Her findings were consistent with Greg’s preliminary assessment. 

The amount of cartilage in the metatarsals, and the amount of fusion displayed in the skull bones .. the hip bone measurements etc indicated a male child of approx 5 years. 

They would need DNA tests with family to get a match. There was mottling all around the end of one fibula that could be consistent with egregious pressure being applied resulting in deep bone contusion. 

She texted Greg that she had finished her autopsy and that the paperwork was started.

Another body, this time an RTA, came in and before long the faint light of day was apparent and she was ready to go home. 

She decided to check on John . She was sure Harry or Mrs Hudson would be around and any adjustments for Rosie’s care could be made. 

Coming up the stairwell to Acute Care, she was startled to find Sherlock standing aimlessly on the landing. 

His back was to her as he gazed out a narrow window; the pale light giving his skin a softened glow. The smell of mustiness lingered around him and the sharp acridity associated with cigarette smoke. 

She drew nearer standing beside him and looking out at the streets below. 

He looked as undone as she had ever seen, lost in thought. Although her first reaction had been to lash out she found she could not in the face of his brokenness. 

A decision needed to be made and so she made one --Victor, John the rest could wait.. she was taking care of Sherlock today. 

Whatever the cause of that hideous cruelty she had endured leaving him here was like abandoning a puppy on a rain soaked street. 

She tugged on his coat and led him down to street level. Hailing a taxi they stopped for take out and then rode to her new Kensington address. 

Once inside Molly ushered Sherlock to her bedroom, dropping her coat and bags by the door. She flicked on her bathroom light leaving the bedroom in darkness lit by its dim glow. 

His weary unSherlock eyes looked at her as she tugged his Belstaff off and suit coat laying them aside on a chair. Pushing him to sit she helped him with his shoes. 

She walked back into the living area. Going to the door, she slung her bag and coat on hooks. Picking up the brekkie takeout she headed for the kitchen to make tea. 

The shadows of events oppressed as she laid a tray. It would be a while before this kitchen was free of its ghosts, but maybe it would someday be the place where they started over.

The tea ready, she brought it all to the bedroom. Entering it, Sherlock had not moved from where he had sunk on the bed. His gaze tracked her movements but he seemed incapable of speech. 

Setting it all on a small side table she then sat down next to him. In a moment he pulled her into his embrace, hugging her. They had been through so much together since she had met him what felt like a lifetime ago and yet this was undoubtedly the closest she had ever felt to him. 

He tightened his arms, squeezing as if he'd never let go. She raised her arms holding him to her, feeling the shuddering breaths and gasps as he struggled with something she could only dimly understand. 

He shook his head against her shoulder coming to grips with an obviously distressing set of circumstances. 

After he had calmed , she reached to grab his hand to straighten him out and hand him his tea cup. 

Feeling a roughness and pulling it nearer, she turned it palm up, exclaiming as she found plasters applied and some scrapes evident. 

Sherlock, what did you do to your hands?"


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just an idea I got from the two scenarios of Molly/Sherlock TLD/TFP. What her tears meant and his rage. Hope I can carry this story through kinda new.. 
> 
> Thanks in advance for your reads ☺

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this works.. taking a deep breath

CHAPTER 2 

Sherlock stared bemused at his hands, recalling the terror - inducing minutes at Sherrinford and the travesties they had endured.

Were those later events at Musgrave so soul-numbing that he had forgotten that phone call? 

To walk away from that lidless coffin with its glowing merciless interior as open as a grave was something he found he could not do. His emotions were too raw, and so he gently retrieved the lid carrying it and placing it securely on top. 

Looking down to read the inscription again, his mind kicked itself into high gear as it raced to formulate a conclusion based on the information it had gathered from his last few encounters with Molly. 

The reality of what was behind Molly’s recent abnormalities clearly revealed itself with a finality that broke every emotion free from where he had carefully imprisoned them,

Molly Hooper was dying.. she had been diagnosed with something malignant and her prognosis was not good. During his encounter with her in the ambulance and on Eurus’ live feeds he had made pertinent observations that now clicked together. 

*She had changed her colour palette to vibrant as a distraction to her pallor. 

*Trousers hat had fit comfortably in past were now snugged up by a belt. By the inches lost Sherlock could estimate up to 22 pounds lost yet she had not displayed but rather hid it. Why? it was associated with something she wanted to conceal.

*Death had changed from being a morbidly acceptable companion to now a feared adversary. 

*Her flat was new and big, full of high end accoutrements, a splurge purchase was not uncommon with a dying single woman with no close relatives or offspring. 

*No cat dishes- or cat paraphernalia - Molly had apparently not replaced Toby who had died of old age some time ago. Alone it may not have been unique but combined it was indicative. 

*Molly’s own deduction of her dad who ‘was sad when he was alone’ . Molly had had no idea they were watching her and had used no subterfuge to hide her sorrow.

*Last but perhaps not least - her resistance to opening the subject of the state of their relationship and her pained objections. Could Molly herself been trying to spare him the pain of sharing her suffering?

Undoubtedly so, it would be so like Molly. Molly Hooper and her stubborn selflessness that would take her to the grave alone if it protected those she loved from. Hurt. 

And in that moment the finality of that closed coffin with its dedication had tore him apart entirely and completely. 

Everything in him raged against the one enemy had no hope of vanquish with his wit,and so he had lashed out blindly and uselessly, vowing with each blow to use all means necessary to protect her, the woman he now knew he loved.

Sitting there next to her in her flat, recalling all he knew of his Molly; she would thank no one who pried secrets from her. He would need all his skills to hide his awareness of it, until she was ready to tell.

But his last and most important vow would be to give her the support and vigilance she would need. A vicious sob rose up forcing it's way out of his mouth before he can could stop it .

“She and Moriarty had a coffin for you,” the words pulled rawly from his throat. Molly’s head snapped up pivoting to look at him as they sat huddled together. 

"What?” she gasped. 

“Mycroft, John and I were trapped into solving puzzles to save a child's life.. or so we thought. Yours was the third puzzle - I was forced to call you and prior to yours five people had died senselessly. I had to play her game- I could not risk your safety.”

“We found a coffin with those words inscribed on it, and I was given three minutes to make you say them. Or,” he stopped abruptly, his hand scraping restlessly through his hair.

“Or what?”

He swallowed thickly, “She said a bomb set in your flat would be detonated,”

A silence descended and Sherlock looked up to see Molly sitting with her hand over her mouth. 

Reaching out to pull her hand away, grasping it in his own he continued. 

He saw her stare down at their clasped hands in wonder, “I had no reason to doubt her threat was real. She had already detonated. .” 

"221B.. “ Molly finished. “I heard about it from Greg. But your hands.. ??”

"Ask me some other time,” he sidestepped for now the maelstrom of those moments..

Molly carefully read him in that way he realized he had come to love and silently pulled the table near and together they finished off the take out and tea. 

Sherlock ate silently feeling his body's exhaustion but still he couldn't sleep without more discussion. Seeing Molly move to get up, clearly intent on clearing up the food and settling them in bed. 

Sherlock took a breath and reaching over, took her by the the hand keeping her seated. 

She looked at him, waiting for whatever he had to say, 

“I-- I’ve been a fool Molly Hooper. I could say I had justifiable reasons but in the end they're still merely excuses. I'm confused at the moment - and there's so much to explain to you. But I want you to know .. they were right…. “ 

“Right?” Molly queried. 

He forced himself to take a deep breath, 

“Moriarty said he’d burn the heart out of me, I denied having one to him, and I thought I didn't  
.. I made myself believe it. But you, you Molly Hooper. .“ 

He stumbled. . stopped for breath.. “You've been my Melody, You're the Wallpaper in my Mind Palace. .you’re my Belstaff.. “ 

Again he reached out to her and she met him half way, bodies leaning against each other. 

“I owe you everything -- and I've given you nothing but heartache in return, forgive me .. for never having the courage to own it until it was forced on me, forgive me love.” 

He brought his head down blindly, his cupped palm finding her petal-soft cheek. He took her lips greedily pleadingly, his tears wetting their lips their noses mashing. A messy but entirely glorious affair. 

MHSHMHSHMHSHMHSHMHSHMHSHMHSHMHSHMHSH 

It could not be real she reasoned . In some alternate dream-scape she had conjured finding a traumatized Sherlock and brought him home in a taxi leading up to this heated exchange in her bedroom. 

She murmured lovingly to this entirely hapless man, she soothed and explored his back his neck. . those soft enticing curls. She hugged fiercely  
and well, reciprocating every kiss; every touch and caress with tender fervour. And with it promised so much more. 

Still she could sense exhaustion as a palpable thing and so she pulled away meeting those eyes that in the pre-dawn now glowed preternaturally.

And here was HER Sherlock, no superiority or impassiveness, divested for the moment entirely of his shell. 

She got up grabbing out of her closet the PJ'S he stored there and pulled him to his feet leading him to the bathroom. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he came willingly and as she deposited him in it turning he reached out curling his long fingers around her wrist.. 

“Stay,” he murmured and so she did. She helped him with his buttons, and pulling his bandaged knuckles through his sleeve cuff. She turned on the shower spray and looked busily for towels and flannels as he removed his clothes. 

It was a scene they had repeated more than once since the Fall, but nonetheless her heart ached as it always did seeing the myriad of scars, welts from beatings, punctures and that awful bullet wound in the centre of his chest. 

His perfect .. fabulously perfect NAKED chest.. a traitorous voice whispered in her head. She shook it off feeling his smirk as she helped him dress. 

Dressed, his damp hair slicked back from his forehead, he climbed into bed, cleaner but now more exhausted than ever. Donning her own night shirt she climbed alongside him. 

She made to keep her distance but his arms reached around her anchoring her firmly against him making her wonder all that had transpired to put him in this state. Still that could wait for another day. 

She laid awake for awhile feeling his lithe body snuggled next to her, and slowly drifted off.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is what it is?? Thank you lovelies for reading . I'm thinking TFP had a traumatic impact on Sherlock at least for awhile.

Molly woke later with a start to the sound of voices coming from the sitting room. Climbing out of bed she donned a flowered robe before wandering out to investigate. 

She came to an abrupt halt at the sight of Sherlock sitting on her couch with Rosie playing happily on his lap.

He looked more himself but sober lost in thought. Seeing he was dressed, it seemed he had found his extra clothes that she also had also kept. 

When requesting her to bring the ambulance he had also asked her to bring his coat. 

It had been useless to deny she had cleaned his coat and kept it since the Fall. 

She was thankful Mycroft had forgotten Sherlock’s belongings as it had given her something tangible connection to Sherlock until he returned. 

He seemed oblivious as she lingered in the doorway but as he looked up at her she knew his awareness of her was at a peak. 

Swallowing nervously she approached the couch and sat. Smiling at her god daughter, she play-babbled with her, reaching out her arms as Rosie eagerly sought her. 

Sherlock spoke first, “Harry was just here. Rosie stayed with her since yesterday but she has to go to work. I said it’s fine.” 

“Has she seen John?” 

“John’s OK. Harry believes he’ll probably come by himself to pick up Rosie in the morning. He's really not much worse for wear than Mycroft and I.”

He sounded himself but shyer quieter. The next few hours were spent making life normal for Rosie. She loved seeing him like this as they kept Rosie busy. 

Seeing her collapsible pushchair, Molly suggested taking Rosie on an outing. Sherlock got up and before long they were pushing Rosie down a busy sidewalk. 

Settling on a bench while Rosie toddled exploring a playground was not a scenario in which she imagined Sherlock Holmes in the picture. And fantasy alone would explain his insistence on near proximity to her person. 

No baby would ever be safer though as she soon realized smiling that he was deducing everyone in the vicinity of Rosie. 

Their eyes met and he smiled knowing she had observed his analyses but underneath she could see the pain.

“Sherlock are you OK. . “ she trailed off, the ghost of an old conversation making its presence felt.

His hand immediately reached over to clasp hers, even pulling hers over against his chest. He became engaged in studying it. 

It was a thrilling but unnerving experience, and yet she had so many questions for him. Looking up and catching her gaze with those otherworldly eyes she could see he knew.

The bones in the morgue flashed into her mind and in a heartbeat she knew they were of inestimable importance to him. But that kind of emotion was not such Sherlock would allow himself to let out in such a public area.

Instead she pulled his right hand towards herself, and began inspecting it thoroughly, prying away at the plasters where necessary. 

“Trauma occurred within the last 24 hours. Multiple ecchymoses developing . The most severe of these are on the dorsal side of the primary and secondary metacarpophalangeal joints.”

Inspecting the fleshy side of his hands, “These also received trauma although the force was shared not as focal as with the joints. Small lateral punctures indicate the removal of small splinters.likely wood. Abrasions also noted.”

“Causation: subject struck a solid wood surface with primarily his right hand more than once with direct impact on the knuckles,” tracing them gently, “there was a continuation of blows with the sides of the fists using equal force.” 

“Prior motivation: unknown,” her voice dropped to a whisper, seeing the blaze in Sherlock’s eyes and suddenly extrapolating what he'd done to cause such damage. He didn't have to say it she knew. 

She skirted the dangerous ground, rising to her feet, and after some coaxing returned Rosie to her pushchair. Sherlock remained silent as they returned to her flat. 

After a light meal and a bath Rosie seemed out for the night and Molly and Sherlock settled on the couch. 

 

SHMHSHMHSHMHSHMHSHMHSHMHSHMHSHMHSHMHSHMHSHMHSHMHSHMHSHMHSHMH 

“I have long had the .. view… “ he started shakily, “that my makeup of its own volition repels emotion; It was an inborn trait with no causal events.”

“All my life I have directed my path on that assumption. And yet, the last few days have revealed things to me that have ripped away a facade I was only….. dimly aware of. “

To his dismay, there welled up from within a sense of sorrow, horror and bewilderment that he could not tamp back down; threatening his equilibrium.

Equilibrium lost and in his distress he could not keep slow tears from pooling and spilling onto his face, and he found himself bringing up his hand to wipe his cheeks. 

It was a welcome relief to have Molly reach out and wrap her arms around him, holding the world at bay while he mourned. 

“The boy I autopsied at the morgue, you were close? “

He nodded against her, “Yes, we were childhood friends, my only friend as I remember,” a hiccough catching in his throat. 

“I somehow buried my memories of him creating new ones that I could live with-with Mycroft’s encouragement, no doubt.”

“Just as important, I’ve remembered someone else from my past, someone Mycroft appears to have hoped I would never remember..” 

“Who?” 

And so he slowly reviewed it all, everything that mattered at least, playing with Molly’s hands her hair the edges of her clothes. Molly asking questions when necessary. And. Finally coming to his deranged younger sibling. 

“The day we lost our home and Eurus was removed was unbearably frightening and traumatic. I remember crying, sobbing.”

Looking up he caught Molly’s eyes, feeling without words her protective nature rise up in protest. 

“They parted us, and my memories of her faded, transformed, children are resilient but so so much makes sense now. “ 

"She believed I had abandoned her, and when Moriarty came along.. “ he stopped,hearing Molly’s intake of breath before carrying on, piecing together a timeline of events from known and surmised facts. 

She listened, her consternation evident as he spoke of his sister’s descent into psychosis, her malignancy fed by Moriarty's lucid grandiosity and malicious deviance. 

Seemingly together they had hatched Moriarty's last series of macabre challenges to be instated apparently if he survived the Fall 

At Sherrinford, each puzzle matched in morbidity and horror the puzzles he had once indulged in with pleasure. And finally he came to the dreaded phone call, 

“Never has my heart pounded louder in my ears and my breath so entirely deserted my body. Instantaneously I .. I ….was entirely and overwhelmingly devastated.”

"How remarkable such hideousness could set one on the path to liberation so efficiently" he mused.

"One does not expect the sheer ignorance,the heedlessness of the past, to receive instant approbation Molly, I was so careless, so.. blind. “ 

He glanced up, all at once everything that had been stolen from him seemed an immense injustice to the woman at his side. 

He recalled their first meeting, frustratingly no matter how hard he tried to erase them, it and every other encounter were permanent fixtures in his mind.

Molly in all her aspects had their rooms in his memory and someday he supposed he should own up to the times her presence had literally kept him alive and sane. 

The night of the Fall he-of all people- had been reduced to pacing uselessly in the street, the final pieces falling into place around him, creating the perfect checkmate with no moves left. 

Without warning, his Mind Palace brought him to the lab at St. Bart’s, while he listened hypnotically to Molly’s words, becoming once again entirely mesmerised by her as she stammered and blushed her way through them. 

Her downplaying of the crucial part she bore in The Work was shocking and could not have been farther from the truth. As with many of his encounters with her, he simply was out of his depth from the moment she spoke or even moved. 

In the light of Moriarty's scheme each word was a plank in a bridge over a deep bottomless perilous chasm. If Molly herself believed she was unimportant in his world, it could be assumed Moriarty thought so as well. 

In that moment the only thing that would save the others and himself, that unusual thing he could not fathom or truly accept--was Molly’s impossibly selfless illogical faith in him. 

Arriving at St. Bart’s, he slipped into the lab at the end of her shift. At first he had thought her gone; the lab chillingly empty of her presence .

He stood in the shadows with no one else to turn to until, relieved, he heard Molly doing one last sweep before leaving. 

As she reached a hand towards the door, he found himself voicing the opposition to her statement that he had failed to speak that day in the immediacy of the moment. 

It was all too clear to him that his continuing presence there was testament to his reliance on her and the trust he had implicitly placed in her. 

And yet especially in light of everything it seemed imperative her vulnerability be responded to with like vulnerability and honesty

Yet even as he warned her away; with every word she spoke in reply to him, Molly became inexplicably but undeniably a tower of strength for him to lean on, a beacon he could not help but be physically drawn to. 

Molly Hooper and Molly Hooper alone had stood in the gap for him, for all of them. 

She had done the impossible, by doing that most foolish of all things, letting her heart rule her head. 

It was very telling how closely the scene in Sherrinford had mirrored it, Moriarty's macabre cadenza. 

As in St. Bart’s, there has been no time or place for subterfuge, or for games. 

They had been isolated, separated from the world by a crisis that could only be overcome together. 

Only it had been his turn to save her by deliberately, knowingly, unabatingly peeling away the masks,--- 

Surrendering his heart if that's what it took to stop the finality of that coffin from happening. And surrender it, he had. 

Analyzing what he knew he now felt for the undaunted woman in his arms, it was not surprising his one and only meltdown had come at the threat of her loss. 

It was a disturbing prospect; how entwined their lives stood the potential of becoming. He could only wonder how deeply they already were.


	4. Chapter 4

*My deepest deepest deepest apologies for the delay.. and for the brevity of this  
............................................................

“I know how you hurt your hands, Sherlock, “ Molly said unexpectedly into his shoulder, “I'm not sure I entirely understand why,” her voice pattering off. 

He paused, his mind stuttering, how did she manage that how-did she always catch him off guard- 

And how could he explain the unexplainable, those moments in which he had felt more mortal and defeated than at any other point in his adult existence. 

“Don't you see, Molly, in the end when I faced your coffin- all I could see was exactly what Eurus had told me, that I would bitterly regret holding back from you; burying my-- “ he cleared his throat “feelings away as I always seem to have done.” (so many words unsaid..)

“I am who I have always been- I observe what others miss- I value cold reason and logic above all for they afford me a superior vantage point to analyze and deconstruct. I built my Mind palace on these foundations. “

Molly interrupted thoughtfully, “---but your Mind palace was not only a mechanism for who you were choosing to be, it was a barricade. A coping mechanism that only someone as unique as you could've devised.” 

“Why would I do that?” his face scrunched in confusion. 

Molly brought her hands up to cradle his face, threading her fingers into his inky black curls, caressing, stroking. 

“You were traumatized, and you said you believe your sister is more clever. It's logical if you thought your caring for your friend was the reason why Eurus won her terrible game.” 

“Maybe you decided to lock your reasoning side away from your emotions so you'd be smartest. But if you had truly been as clinical as you say Eurus is you couldn't have cared about John or Mrs. Hudson or --me.”

“I've seen what you wouldn't allow yourself to be, passionate and caring, in spite how hard you tried to shut that away-” she whispered softly.

He suddenly moved his face centimetres from her and found himself as breathless as when he had discovered Eurus’ deadly scheme for Molly.

“All these years I refused to let you get near, " he intoned softly, "but always, my mind palace still kept every memory of you in spite of myself.” 

He inhaled her scent, his nose nuzzling into her neck and hair, the frissons of want dancing along his skin “I longed for you when I was-”

He found himself lunging suddenly, his open mouth taking her soft lips captive. 

Her hands clung keeping his lips firm against her own. He felt her eagerness to take the kiss deeper, angling her head.

It jolted him, and he pulled back, their eyes meeting. It hit him hard how much he now wanted to be with her, to care and be cared for.

He closed his eyes, his hands grasping her; going around her shoulders pulling her nearer.

Their lips met again, hungrily, and he found himself pressing in gathering her nearer, lifting her and moving until she sat gathered against him. 

His mouth opened and he took her mouth entirely. One hand slid to her hip and leaning back, he tugged loving the feel of her weight against him. 

Exploring how their osculation could send such reductive messages to his body, 

Exploring their mutual pleasure and surrender all because of the simple release of oxytocin dopamine endorphins and phenylethylamine into their bodies.

How his hands seemed to develop a life of their own, intent on mapping out curves, learning what drew such wondrous sounds from this woman, HIS Molly. 

 

MHSHMHSHMHSHMHSHMHSHMHSHMHSHMHSHMHSHMHSHMHSHMHSHMHSHMHSHMHSH 

 

A soft cry pulled them apart and Molly reluctantly made to get up, pushing against his lithe body. 

“Wait- “ the deep timbre of his voice sent shivers down her spine. He caressed her side and hip, his eyes hooded over now. He nuzzled her neck coaxing her to stay. 

Rosie cried out louder, and Molly reluctantly pushed again this time succeeding and getting on her feet.

Sherlock got up with her with a sigh, following her to the side of Rosie’s playpen in her spare room. 

The room also had a narrow bed. She had added a change table, night light, and a comfortable padded rocking chair for when Rosie stayed over. 

Rosie was slowly gradually sorrowfully adjusting to Mary's absence from her life as had all of them and they had stepped up for John in caring for her. Mrs Hudson, Harry, and herself,

Yet Sherlock had been excluded from their circle and in their encounter that dreadful day not long after Mary’s death she had seen his yearning glance at the baby girl. 

She smiled at him, nodding at Rosie, and smiling back, he picked her up gently. 

Frowning, he felt her bottom gingerly. She laughed at the look of disgust on his patrician features. 

Gathering nappies, cream and wipes she motioned Sherlock to place Rosie on the changing table. 

She looked at him expectantly, and he grimaced, 

“If we must-”

“One must-,” she teased gently and he sighed loudly, “Dull.” She smiled knowingly at him. 

Together they changed Rosie, Sherlock manfully enduring as best he could. 

Molly gathered Rosie up and nodded at Sherlock to sit in the rocking chair. Surprised, he complied, looking bemused when she placed Rosie in his arms. She snuggled near to her godfather and Molly observed the gentleness and care in his movements. 

Rosie lay contentedly as he began to rock. Molly stepped towards the door intent on tidying up for a while. She paused, entranced by the scene before her. 

And there it was, as Sherlock Holmes began to sing gently an old air in the dimly lit room. 

‘Froggie went a courting and he did ride. “ 

On he sang his voice soft and tender in the quiet space. He lulled Rosie to sleep in a gentle manner none would believe him capable of. 

Molly moved silently around her home setting things to right one ear attuned to the low tones coming from the bedroom. Her eyes darted occasionally to her kitchen in contemplation. 

She moved into her room deciding against shower for the moment but finding softer bottoms and a sleep shirt to change into. She exited intent on putting a kettle on for a brew. 

She heard him moving, murmuring as he settled Rosie and moments later he walked through the doorway.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loong hiatus-- WOW Owe all of you a billion apologies- little bit writers block, little bit massive life stuff, maybe I'm just lazier than you guys deserve

They moved nearer Sherlock launching heedlessly from the doorway and negotiating almost blindly the shadowy living space. Molly suddenly hesitating, at once seeing and feeling the sheer power of the consulting detective’s gaze locked on and noiselessly approaching his quarry. 

Her fight or flight instinct foolishly kicked in, and the mock chase was on, swiftly ending in an impasse, Molly standing boxed in the kitchen and for the life of her Molly couldn't recall at what point she had picked up a whisk. 

Sherlock glanced down, eyebrows quirked as he murmured bemusedly, his smirk appearing, ‘And how precisely do you intend you defend yourself with that? ‘ 

He moved, narrowing the space between them,  
Within seconds he had her trapped, his arms now blocking her escape, and his head lowering down, mesmerizing her as it descended, the words, Mind the gap popping randomly in her head and the memory of their almost date appearing from nowhere. 

Sherlock that day had almost entirely shed both the defences of his wit and over the top superior attitude and it hurt a little how natural they could be with one another, a frail interlude underlining what might have been. 

As the work ended, so did Sherlock’s professional demeanour. He became at once wistful and apologetic.. the atmosphere around them seemed saturated with the regrets of the past. 

If she hadn't had a ring on her finger and and the spectre of Tom standing observing them like the elephant in the room that he clearly was.. 

(the image of Sherlock standing like a chastened schoolboy who was only just stopping himself from breaking a well learned rule (mustn't touch) by literally holding himself in check lingering in her mind) what would the rest of their evening looked like. In what direction would their relationship have gone? 

She hesitated, soberly putting the whisk on the counter behind her the questions from her memories spilling haplessly into the space between as she realized this was exactly the same spot she had stood on when.. 

'You have questions,” he murmured pulling his head back a little so that their gazes might meet. 

'I do believe you, Sherlock, that you meant what you said during that phone call ‘ hesitancy colouring her gaze, ‘ It's… just..’

‘Where's the proof prior to --that? ’ 

She nodded unable to stop her hand from reaching up to toy with locks of his hair. Sherlock leaned in, his eyes closing briefly at the sensation, one hand settling on her hip. 

“I mean.. it seems it must have been there--if from what you say your sister and Moriarty believed they could hurt you this way.. ‘ she faltered. 

'Us, Molly,’ Sherlock murmured, ‘you and I were both very much in their sights. ‘ Inhaling, and then his words coming out on one long exhale l, ‘But they made one very very big mistake- ‘ 

‘What's that? ‘

‘You, always you,’ His gaze, shifted past her, his hand flexing on her hip drawing her near. Reflecting, reconfiguring past theories to fit what they now knew to be true, the sharp clarity jumping back onto his face, a bright reverence apparent now,

'It was unthinkable to them, that after enduring that final TRAVESTY you, Molly Hooper would still -- ‘ he shook his head .. he seemed to fight down the deep emotions that threatened to overwhelm. . 

‘I would still ..what? ’ Molly queried softly. 

‘Still tolerate my presence again anywhere near you, let alone-- ‘ he smiled self-deprecatingly, then shook his head, ’ his hand cupping her hip tugging her nearer. 

Molly slid her hand down to cup the side of his jaw, reassuring, treasuring, ‘ Sherlock, anyone who REALLY knew you would've sensed that something was wrong. You do NOT panic or beg; and you should've known I would hear the anguish in your voice.’ 

'I'm so sorry, Sherlock, it wasn't at all fair to make you say it first,’ shamefacedly looking down, ‘ but even - even if it was pretend, I just couldn't resist what seemed like my only chance to hear it from you.' 

'Don't,’ he said gruffly, his hand going up to grasp hers, bringing it to his lips and kissing it, looking abashed and huffing, ‘it was a come-uppance I long-deserved and you know it. I could see that Eurus was delighted at the outcome. “ 

She looked at him fully, so many memories and feelings. Years of what if, of calling herself a fool for believing he could ever truly care for her. The self reproach in leading Tom on, when in the end she knew he was only a Sherlock substitute.

Sherlock saw the wheels in her head spinning, the shadows of their pasts looming over, threatening to consume them both. The fake and real exes and his penchant for addictions and danger that should've made her avoid him like the plague from day one. 

He couldn't deny they had their place, and yet for both their sakes what they now had together must be tended with due care and diligence, he didn't need John or Mary to tell him that.

She had chosen to forgive him and as far as he was concerned he was the only party truly at fault here. 

He was a novice of the first order when it came to feelings and yet Eurus’ devastating object lesson about the fragile nature of their present must be honoured and acted upon. 

He backed her up against the counter, asserting his height, waiting to see in her eyes, hear in her breathing the physical response he now craved. 

Moriarty had done his worst and yet here they still were, here SHE was. Every effort to burn his heart out using his family his friends and any who sought a claim on it had been summarily dealt with. 

He now saw Mycroft’s warnings and lectures urging him to abandon the weakness of his emotions in favour of prized reason and intellect for what they were patent now obvious ploys crafted from a fear of repeat events including his own descent into addictions and self harm. 

But Tonight and everything that followed was for her, for them. He knew she could read him like no other, and he closed the gap between them intent on the prize of her mouth; 

her tender smile made his heart jump, knowing she understood, as he felt her reach her arms around his neck as eager for him as he was for her. 

His hands pulled her to him, fingers clutching into her hips until she was entirely flush against him her chin coming up as their lips met. 

His eyes closed as he focused on her entirely- his fingers spreading as his hands slid along her sides and back exploring caressing as they went. 

Her experimental tug of his hair from hands buried in it elicited a groan from him, one hand sliding up her back. Finding her hair tie feeling her hair cascade down her back and burying a hand into the depth of it using it to pull her head back. 

It coming forward to rest against her cheek as their kiss deepened his thumb stroking the soft skin near the corner of her mouth. She turned her head her lips kissing his palm at the base of his thumb his lips sliding to her cheek to her jawline 

She parted her lips to pull in his thumb suckling it and it was if he'd been struck by a bolt of lightning.  
Desire hit harder than he'd ever known as he took their kisses deeper as his hands cupped her face. His thumb still embedded in her mouth. 

She exhaled through her nose, flattening her palms into his skull and pressing urgently. 

Their lips slid and grasped fervently and as she released it his hand slid to her waist and he began caressing her side pulling mindlessly at the hem of her shirt. 

Suddenly she stilled, pulling back ever so gently, her breathing shallow and in little gasps. She grabbed his hand, and sidled out of the kitchen pulling him along with her. 

He let her lead and they gained the bedroom swiftly. Her turning and pushing it shut behind them. She leant against the door and then sauntered to where he stood by the bed. 

***Sorry I promise I'm 80% done the next two chapters.


End file.
